making bed

Make Your Bed – StruckTruck

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By: Lynn Bolster

Sleep. We all say we never get enough. Not only is it rest and restoration for our bodies, but it is also an escape. Just shut your eyes, and everything goes away—well, visually anyway. Our minds still may go a hundred miles an hour, but we eventually drift off. In trucking, sleep is a precious commodity. Hours of service disrupt our normal sleep rhythm, and they don’t take into account that each one of us has a different sleep/body schedule, the way our bodies react to rest or the lack thereof.

On the road, we may miss our ‘real’ bed at home. For some, whose life has been on the road for so long, they sleep better in the truck than in their real bed. I remember one winter night that was windy, rainy, and cold. With each wind blast, the truck shook, and I wanted to be in my real bed so bad I cried. The road had exhausted me, Mother Nature was beating me, and I wanted the peacefulness and security of a bed laden with covers that I could hide under. But with the road as the relentless taskmaster, I laid still, listened to the howling, and watched the street lights rocking in the wind.

Sleep can be hard to find in truck stops and rest areas where ‘commercial company’—or to the rest of us, hookers—knock on the truck doors to earn their living. Many drivers give into temptation, risking their health and putting themselves in danger. As I sat in the truck at about midnight, I’ll never forget what I heard on the CB:

“Hey, driver in the green Pete, when the lady of the night is free, send her over here to me in the red Western Star at the end of the row.”

“10-4 will do, brother.”

Shortly thereafter, I saw the woman walking over to the red truck. All was silent for a while, then this came across:

“Hey, Western Star, can you do me a favor?”

“Sure, what’s up, green Pete?”

“Before that woman leaves your truck, can you get my wallet back?”

“Sure will, driver,” he replied, chuckling.

So you see, I don’t tell this story to be out of line; I tell it because it is real road life, and not only are health and safety at risk but your paycheck is too.

It really helped me to feel less out of whack if I made the bed in the truck each day. I tried to keep the sleep space as only that while keeping the front of the truck for working. It’s hard not to track mud, dirt, and wet clothing into the sleeper, but it should be avoided. We all come up with our systems, and newer, larger trucks, allow more room for actual living. Many old timers share how they just laid a piece of plywood across the seats and used that as their ‘mattress’ in the old-day cab cabovers. They were so tired that not even lying on a board could stop them from dozing.

Foam earplugs are great when trying to sleep in the truck, the kind that squishes up and expands. With the engine idling, they muffle the sound enough so sleep can come, but a knock at the door or an alarm sound can still be heard. When running Florida, refrigerated trailers are a way of life. The refer units cooling the trailers are notoriously noisy and screechy, so earplugs are a must when sleeping around refer loads.

It’s great to see trucks with huge sleepers, showers, and kitchens—really a home on wheels. But at what price is luxury? It adds to overall weight, and that subtracts from your payload if you haul by weight as we did. Our old 1978 Kenworth W900 had a 36” crawl-through sleeper and a glass—yes, glass—window you could crank up between the sleeper and the front of the cab. One night, we decided to test it, rolling it up, but then it wouldn’t go down. We were trapped in the sleeper for an hour. Bill got so mad that he took his boot and kicked the glass, shattering it everywhere. That made him even angrier, and he crawled out of the sleeper, blew his pay on the poker machine in the truck stop, and left me to clean up the mess.

It’s said that we spend one-third of our lives sleeping, and if we live to 75, that’s 25 years of sleep! So this is significant. Remember, the bridge between despair and hope is a good night’s sleep. Rest when you can because, in trucking, you never know what you’ll face tomorrow.

“In peace, I will lie down and sleep, for you alone Lord, make me dwell in safety.” Psalm 4:8

Is Food Your Focus? Struck Truck

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By: Lynn Bolster

Food. We all must eat to live but what happens when food becomes our focus? I’ve known many drivers who have battled obesity and health issues. The sad part is they have more control over their bodies than they realize. I never knew this either but had a couple of experiences that led me to the light. I waitressed at a Howard Johnson’s restaurant in high school and our cook Mark, was a marathon runner. When I heard about this, I couldn’t believe anyone could run 26.2 miles and not die. I was fascinated. I tried running, it was okay; I didn’t stick with it, but it never left my mind.

When I went away to school, I put on some weight my first year there. I needed a way to drop it but I didn’t want to diet. So I went to the track, remembering Mark, and began to run laps, real slow laps. Then a gal in really good shape passed me and I thought how do I get like that? I vowed to come back each day. The next morning after weigh-in I knew I had to go after seeing the disappointing numbers. On day four, after having run that morning, I spied pound cake and ice cream for dessert at lunch. I knew I shouldn’t eat it but I decided to anyway, knowing I was doing deliberate damage. The next day I weighed in and I had lost two pounds! How could this be?

So I tried running and eating whatever I wanted within reason for the next week and I continued to either lose or maintain what I had lost. And it came to me: as long as I paid my ‘running insurance’ I was able to eat whatever I wanted! I could see my metabolism was changing, a huge motivator. I was hooked on going to the track and watching my progress; the weight disappeared. I even felt my scalp sweat for the first time! I’ve been running and distance walking ever since and also ran some races over the years. When we were trucking, it was hard to do but I made time on the weekends to fit it into my schedule. Show up, be consistent, pay your ‘insurance’, go slow, and pick a specific distance as a goal, a mile is a good start. I have had more success running or walking to lose weight first, then lifting weights to tone things up afterward.

The second experience happened when I worked at a girl’s summer camp in Maine. A camp counselor, Julie, was anorexic, an eating disorder where the person has a very low body weight, an intense fear of gaining weight, a flawed way of seeing their body, and may exercise compulsively. We were all concerned for her. There was only one male counselor on staff and he said something I never forgot: “Food was never meant to be what society has made it. It’s not for comfort, it’s not for celebration, it’s not to ward off boredom, it’s not for rewarding yourself…its true purpose is to keep us alive.” And when you think about it, that IS all it is. When he said that, something clicked for me. To this day, I rarely use food for those things, and I try not to eat my feelings. Why has it become so much more? Don’t let any of these things win – discouragement, depression, past mistakes or rejection steal your self-worth. Why are you using food as comfort, what’s eating you?? Dr. Phil says we must require more of ourselves to address our issues and face those fears.

Evangelist Billy Graham said: “The Bible speaks about weight issues, both directly and in a general way. I hope you’ll take what it says seriously, because even if your weight isn’t causing health problems now, eventually it will — as every doctor will attest. One reason the Bible warns us against obesity is that it’s often a sign that food has become too important to us, a sign of gluttony, an idol. God gave our bodies to us, and he wants us to take care of them. First Corinthians 6:19-20 says, “Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your body.” Those of you on the road may not be able to apply some of the things in this story but I’m sure you can take something away from it that you can use. Please take these words seriously and make a commitment to honor Christ by the way you live, especially the way you eat.

Go Ahead, Make My Day!

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By: Lynn Bolster

Probably many of you reading this have shot a gun. What do I know about guns? Not a thing. I’m not opposed to them, just the damage they can do in the wrong situation or wrong hands. Our world has drastically changed, and the reality of guns being everywhere was brought to my attention recently.

When I was first trucking, I worked with Norman from Hickory, NC, hauling new furniture north. I was green to the trucking world—all aspects. One night in Delaware, I offered to walk through the shady part of town to a convenience store to get us coffee. As I put my coat on, Norman said, “Do you want Junior to go with you?” I hadn’t a clue what he was talking about until I witnessed his outstretched hand holding a handgun. I stammered, “I guess…” knowing full well I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. I gingerly put junior in my coat pocket, stepping out the door. As I walked, I was certain it would explode in my pocket, shooting my foot off. What if I had to use it? With no license to carry, what if it fell on the floor of the Quickie Mart and killed someone? None of this happened, but fear was on my radar. Each step was taken with great trepidation.

Guns in trucks aren’t a bad idea. Most states approve some kind of concealed carry or allow people from other states to carry while in-state. But it’s not a universal thing. The problem is that laws vary from state to state, and sometimes local laws contradict state laws. Who can keep up with that? I guess you carry it and hope you’ll never have to use it. We never had one while trucking but instead opted for our cheater pipe and brute strength. I felt most threatened while living in our truck on the street in Brooklyn, NY, for three days while the consignee argued with our broker about the freshness of our watermelons—which, of course, became less fresh the longer they sat.

We used to stay in a trailer in a truck yard in Baltimore City while waiting for loads. Just outside, on the other side of our barbed wire, was the local drug drop. I armed myself with the cheater pipe, a hammer, a phony gun (maybe a thug can’t tell the difference in the dark), and other assorted ‘safe’ weapons. I never had to use any of these but somehow felt secure with them sitting next to me.

Recently, I was asked to join a group at an indoor shooting range—two women and two men. Since I had no gun experience, I said I would just observe. This didn’t go over with the feisty 78-year-old woman with us. She pulled out her .38 and said, “You WILL shoot today.” I replied that since there were only four spots in the invite, I would sit out. She adamantly said, “We’ll share the time.” Then sternly stated, “You DON’T know what you may have to face with all these shootings everywhere—you must know how to do this.”

I realized she was right. Just after that, guy #1 called me a derogatory name, with good intentions, to egg me on, which worked. No one’s saying that, and I’m sitting back? No sir! So in I went with guy #2, who is a retired cop. He was very methodical and patient while teaching. He explained the target, how to hold the pistol, and what to do and not to do. Then he said, “Are you ready?”

“To shoot?” I responded. The moment had arrived. “Yes,” he said, “and since this is your first shot, we don’t know your reaction, so I’m right here,” and with that, he placed his hand on my shoulder, reassuring me. I eyed the target, raised and straightened my arms, and pulled a very stiff trigger. And I did that twelve more times. I hit the target, but the recoil—my body absorbing the gun’s kickback—no one told me about.

Later on, guy #1 and I both felt exhausted. So I researched the physical effects of shooting and learned about recoil fatigue. Ours wasn’t extreme, but we were both wiped out for a little while.

You may find yourself in an active shooter situation at any time, and because of it, you will be facing your mortality unexpectedly. Are you right with Jesus? Romans 10:9 says, “If you confess with your mouth Jesus is Lord and believe God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.” Don’t let it be too late to tell Him you’re on the way. He’ll be honored you chose Him! If you haven’t already, I’m asking you, for me, to please accept Him as your Savior, and like Clint Eastwood says, “Go ahead, make my day.”

Steel Behind the Wheel: Struck Truck

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By: Lynn Bolster

Whenever I heard stories about steel haulers, the tales were always grand and legendary. A big, heavy, dangerous commodity, you can’t be shy about hauling steel. There are obviously bigger and badder loads out there, but Steel always intimidated me. It sounds silly I know, but once it was loaded on the trailer, I felt like I had reached the apex of what real trucking was all about.

We loaded out of Bethlehem Steel, Sparrows Point in Baltimore, and other steel mills on the East Coast. One thing certain with steel is waiting. You’re at the mercy of the mill and it might be ready and it might not. And do they care about your time? Nope. You might sit eight hours, you might sit three. Just be prepared with food, something to do, and patience. We waited eight hours at Nucor Steel in Darlington, SC, where they gave you hope when you entered in the sunshine but irritation when you left in darkness. After Little Debbie snacks and peanuts for dinner, only then could we begin chaining and tarping.

When we loaded steel used for tin can manufacture, it had to be tarped. Upon arrival at what used to be American Can, we backed alongside another flatbed trailer outside, not under a roof, and supervised the loader unloading our coils and placing them on their trailer. We questioned this since they are now untarped and sitting outside. “This is our practice,” he said and drove off. Two weeks later, we received a claim on the load because it was rusty. Well, it wasn’t rusty until they sat it outside uncovered during a thunderstorm. Fighting it fell on deaf ears, so we ended up getting nailed for the claim.

Steel trips to Chicago were always an iffy proposition. You never knew how long it would take to get a return load, and it surely got cold there while waiting. As we traveled I-90 on our way in during a blizzard, we treaded gingerly over the icy, snow-covered roads. We saw drivers pulling sets of doubles passing us in that snowstorm going fifty mph, changing lanes like it was sunny and dry, with no one in the ditch. Were they bold and fearless or foolish daredevils? You decide.

On the way home on I-70 in Maryland, we had a mechanical failure. In the single-digit cold at the truck stop in Chicago, I had heard an unusual slight banging sound in our Cummins motor but figured Bill heard the same thing, so I let it go since he let it go. At least we made it to Maryland before it came undone, and there we were with a flashlight, hood open on the side of the road, climbing this way and that in the frigid elements, diagnosing our sick engine.

When loading steel coils, the preferred way to do so is called shotgun, where the eye of the coil faces forward. If they are loaded with the eye facing the side of the trailer, it’s called suicide because, should the coil come loose, it would roll forward, possibly but probably killing the driver. One afternoon, driver Frank Campbell was in his car behind a flatbed that just loaded out of Beth Steel with suicide coils. While waiting at the red light, he witnessed chain links fastened to the coil breaking and saw the coil begin to wobble. He pulled his car around to block the driver from moving forward, putting himself at risk to prevent an even greater danger, should that coil move any further. The driver was grateful, but Baltimore’s finest was not. Frank got a ticket for his act of valor despite his eagle-eye explanation to the cop. When you need a cop you can’t find one; when you don’t, you do. Go figure.

Steel mills are massive buildings housing enormous furnaces and machinery, with incredibly hot, dusty, and dirty conditions but are amazing to see in action. These workers have it tough and, like truckers, take pride in what they do. Working with vats of molten metal all day is not for the faint of heart; talk about a fiery furnace for real! When I would see that furnace, I would think of the intense heat, suffering, and instant death if a worker were to ever fall into it. The same goes for all of us. Sometimes we fall into our own furnaces of intense pain, problems, and sorrow. That is when we have to remember we have a great God who guides us through those times. Or as one expression goes, with God’s help we can walk through our hell and come out holding the flames.

“Our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace” Daniel 3:17

road at night

Truck Struck: The Evil Driveway

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By: Lynn Bolster

As we all know, vehicles can take on lives of their own. Sensors act up, trunks pop open, parts fall off—well, at least they have for me. Where Bill and I lived, the bottom driveway was a straight shot from the garage to the main road. He warned me that it was on a slight incline, so minuscule you couldn’t even notice. I didn’t believe it because it wasn’t visible to my naked eye until one day when my red Mazda pick-up truck and I learned the hard way. I was working on it in said driveway, had it in gear, emergency brake not engaged—my bad. While crawling under the dash to replace a fuse, my arm hit the stick, throwing it out of gear. With that, she began creeping backward.

I jumped out, and the door hung open, catching a big loader that was parked next to it. The door hung up briefly, being pulled backward past the point of no return. Then it promptly took off, rolling at unrestrained speed backward toward the main road and the house trailer across the street. I wildly chased it, waving my arms, yelling like that would do anything, but shortly gave up. Unbelievably, there was no traffic as it gracefully crossed the road, sailing past the house trailer and continuing its journey into a field where it hit a lone cinder block and came to a halt. So, dang it, the driveway really was deceptively slanted, as Bill promised. I was so mad that, from that point on, I named it the evil driveway.

Once back home with the e-brake engaged, I surveyed the door damage. A new door was needed, but the only one the junkyard had was dark blue. We got it and put it on quickly as I had to be in Maryland soon. On my drive there, I sat at a red light, feeling rather hillbilly-ish with my two-tone truck. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I spied another red Mazda pick-up identical to mine directly across from me. He got the green, and as he passed in front of me, he saw that I, too, had what he had—a red truck with a blue driver’s door! When he drove by, our eyes locked as if to say, “I feel your pain.” What are the chances? I wonder what his war story was.

Then there was the tree guy. He dropped his tree-trimming bucket truck off in the evil driveway for a brake job. I soon heard a squeak-squeak noise out the living room window, but why? I then saw the truck rolling backward, down the evil driveway, gaining speed and heading toward that house trailer, having safely crossed the road. I raced out but was unable to do anything but watch the phantom driveway have its way. No lie, it stopped about a foot from the front door of the trailer. Of course, the tree guy never choked the wheels—his bad, just like me. We didn’t charge him extra for the excitement involved in getting it back into the evil driveway with no brakes.

Last up is when a dump truck decided to take on a life of its own. This occurred in the backyard, but I think the evil driveway was exerting influence around our property at this point. Jack, the guy we were working with while replacing our roof, got a bit tipsy and, at the end of the day, backed the dump truck, loaded with old shingles, into a corner directly across from the kitchen. Shortly thereafter, I heard the infamous squeak-squeak, looked out the window, and what did I see but a dump truck coming right for me. It hit just below the kitchen sink, just missing the oil fill for our fuel tank in the cellar, and when it hit—BAM!—the silverware drawer, which was impossible to open, shot out of the cabinet like a cannonball, spewing its contents all over the kitchen floor.

After this, mice had a freeway into our dining room, cold drafts came in under the sink, and the nearby electrical outlet sparked and smoked, so it was put out of commission. The crack in the wall didn’t phase Bill as it did me. He refused to use the homeowner’s insurance, so there was no chance of getting a proper professional seal. I used spray foam and duct tape to doctor up the wounded wall. Jack later confessed he assumed the yard was level, so he never set the e-brake or left it in gear.

So we have now learned to never underestimate the power of ghost vehicles, the operators who don’t do their due diligence to keep things safe, and the presence of things unseen to the naked eye. Or as the expression goes, things are sometimes not what they may seem; even salt looks like sugar.

watermelons

The Rolling Load

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By: Lynn Bolster

In trucking, there are many kinds of freight and ways to deliver goods. Usually, it’s just going from point A to point B, maybe with some multiple stops—standard fare. But on occasion, you may be offered a rolling load. My advice: run, hang up, get lost. Rolling loads consist of freight that a broker actually has in transit to a destination unknown but doesn’t have a buyer for it yet. They might say “Drive north, and I’ll find someone.” Obviously, we can’t see his face over the phone, but I’m sure he’s winking and smiling while trying to convince us that ‘it’s a sure thing.’ So you roll on in faith, hoping it will be accepted when you get to the gettin’ place.

When hauling watermelons, a perishable product, one would think this is not the time to gamble with a rolling load, with cargo spoilage a possibility. Melons are a hot-weather fruit but they can still rot. But truck on faith we did, and things got complicated. Our agent booked us to the eastern shore of Maryland, coming up from Immokalee, Florida. We traveled through Virginia to the 17-mile Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel that dumps you into Maryland, which, by the way, if you don’t like bridges or are claustrophobic in tunnels, I don’t recommend. When we exited, the broker gave us our delivery address. We had a collision with a school bus shortly thereafter, which I won’t go into here but was probably an omen of some sort.

We pulled up to a mom-and-pop produce stand on the side of the road thinking, how can this little place take 45,000 pounds of watermelons? You guessed it, they can’t…and kicked the load. Dang it, we knew this was coming; we just didn’t think it would be on the first try. We motored away, Bill cursing as he ran up and down gears with me remaining silent. A second option dried up also so he told us “just go to Baltimore, I’ll try to get you into Jessup Market tomorrow.”

We parked at the truck stop and went home. The next morning, we saw a number of people carrying watermelons. Turns out a sideways driver we knew was selling the melons off our truck. Bill went to punch him, and the cops were called. After much ado, the cops realized this was out of their scope of service and declared: “We can’t help you because there aren’t any serial numbers on those melons.” So much for Baltimore’s finest.

We got the Jessup call. Upon arrival, the clerk told us to drop the trailer and come back tomorrow. We didn’t want to but did and ended up waiting three days before we were told to come get it. Yep, those melons were baking in the sun all that time, not to mention they were getting free storage on our trailer, and we couldn’t load anything because our equipment was otherwise indisposed. When we arrived to get it, it was empty of melons except for some hay and rotten, broken pieces sitting at the rear. We took a shovel and dumped the debris on the ground for the loader to scoop up. With that, a furious fired-up employee screamed and cursed that we couldn’t do that. We reminded him, that you buy the melons, you buy the hay used to cushion them.

While Bill yelled back, I threw the shovel at the guy, and then we tore out of there. We didn’t want to get a ticket for hay blowing out the trailer down I-95 as we had in the past. I wrote a letter to the president of the Jessup Market reporting that hideous employee. I reminded him we truckers aren’t some scum of the earth’s low lives. We are real working people trying to bring the public a fresh product. He was amazed to get my letter and told our agent about it. While our agent acted politely with him, he warned us “No more letters.” Hey, he’s not out here fighting this battle. Yes, he has a horse in the race, but he’ll never understand what drivers endure until he’s sat where we sit.

Some trips turn into death loads; they are problem after problem. How about the time we drove through Philadelphia and saw our melons flying through the air? A gang of thugs had jumped up on the trailer bumper, and then into the load. As we cruised about 10 mph looking for our consignee, they flung melons off to the guys on the ground into a pickup truck. After that when we went to Philly, we always slathered the bumper with Vaseline, and they never got a foothold again. And yes I’m winking and smiling when I say that.

“Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” Hebrews 11:1

secret box

The Secret Compartment

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By: Lynn Bolster

If you’ve been reading my stories for a while, you have learned that living the trucking, scrapping, and junk life has its adventures and oddities. So many vehicles are in various states of disrepair, and a lot have outlived their useful lives. When junking a semi with a sleeper, you never know what you’ll find since it was someone’s home while on the road. It’s a bedroom, an office, a living and driving space, and a dining room. I have found all matter of crazy things while cleaning. I even found a toilet in the truck under a heap of trash, and yes, it had been used. I believe it was a composting toilet – holy cats! That was an old Mayflower household mover cabover, and we know those guys stay out for weeks at a time. It was the filthiest truck I ever worked on, just an incredible amount of foulness and trash. Not to mention rodents who set up housekeeping in there too.

When I see a unit that bad, I often wonder what’s hidden elsewhere in the workings of the truck, the unseen issues. Not long ago, I was a passenger in someone’s pickup truck. He owns a decent Toyota Tacoma but every time I got in it, I couldn’t stand the smell. It smelled like someone had been sick in there or spilled milk and never cleaned it up. We all know that odor once it’s baked into a hot vehicle. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that his pickup was gassing me out but kept wondering how he couldn’t smell it. Then I remembered he used to drive his semi for the landfill so he was probably immune to bad odors. I mean how good must that smell on a daily basis? When we were working on his big truck, I suggested he wash the floor mats in the Toyota also, thinking maybe he had tracked in landfill residue and that would solve the stench. He did it, no dice.

Which brings me to the cabin filter. He would often disagree with my suggestion of checking cabin filters in vehicles. A lot of people don’t know that this filter exists, usually in a hidden compartment behind the glove box. This day, when I could take the odor no longer I said “How about I check your cabin air filter?” “Be my guest, it’ll probably be a waste of time,” he snickered. While at the Turkey Hill C-store, I opened the glove box undid the fasteners, and reached behind to retrieve the filter out of the housing.

After a struggle and a half, it finally released and jackpot – we could not believe our eyes. I began pulling on scads of insulation and pulling and pulling and pulling, with leaves, and mouse droppings — it was a massive mouse nest lodged in on top of the a/c fan! “No wonder the air never worked too good in here” he whispered with a stunned look on his face. We were astonished, at why there was enough nastiness to fill a shoebox, all packed tight in that little hole. So disgusting that I ran up the hill to Turkey Hill and begged the clerk to give me a couple of bags to dispose of this hideosity from the secret compartment. I had made him a believer. We ended up changing the filter in his car the same day. It was outrageous too, luckily minus the mouse house. I love it when a plan comes together.

This experience reflects our lives and our hidden issues. What dirt, shame, and skeletons do we have in the secret compartments in our minds and hearts? What are you hiding from? What are you not facing because it’s too bad to stare down? The heaps of insulation I pulled out represent someone becoming a new person, a new creation. Throwing out the bad stuff from the darkness; those things that keep you trapped, habits and addictions that can be faced and addressed. It can be very overwhelming and tear you wide open in the process but freedom is achievable. Pastor Rick Garrett says: “God sees our unexposed secrets but has made a way for us. His love is unearned and undeserved. The gap between us and God is wider than we know and will expand as we walk in our truth. But be encouraged, the cross of Christ will span the fullness of the chasm, because God knows the depth of our sin and still offers His love unconditionally.” You can decide on a new beginning each morning, you have all the tools to do it with His help. He will see you through, it might not be easy but it will be worth it. Nothin’ to it but to do it.

“There is nothing concealed that will not be disclosed and nothing hidden that will not be made known.” Luke 12:2

emergency lights

Disaster, Death & Deliverance

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By: Lynn Bolster

In March 2024, the Francis Scott Key Bridge collapsed in  Baltimore, MD when a cargo ship leaving the Port of Baltimore slammed into one of the bridge’s support pillars. This was a catastrophic incident that reminded me of 9/11 when the World Trade  Centers fell. The bridge event was nowhere near the devastation of 9/11, but it still makes anyone sit up and take notice. The  Baltimore skyline was vacant. The average person sees a monstrosity of a structure and presumes it is infallible. Its vast size makes us trust in its safety and durability until it isn’t. Then we have to wrap our heads around its enormity, realizing that it too is just as capable of disaster as a house of cards. 

For container truck drivers, pier employees, and all associated workers, their lives were disrupted. And how many travelers,  commuters, delivery folks, and average citizens will have to reroute their schedules around the city to perform their daily routines?  I remember the many years we trucked over that bridge when we hauled off the piers, which I discussed, oddly enough, in my  February 2024 column titled Cross That Bridge. When viewing the footage of it falling, watching vehicles move across, consider the construction workers on the bridge at the time, lost in this occurrence. Which brings me to the sticky wicket here. Were these workers saved? Did they know the Lord? Where are they now, up there or down there? I will admit I don’t fear dying, I just fear how I’m going to die. I cannot imagine sitting in my work truck, taking a break from repairing potholes, and then falling to my death, knowing so, as you go down to drown – all of a sudden.  God gives no warning, you know it’s coming but you just don’t know when.  

When 9/11 happened, the hardest thing I couldn’t pull my eyes away from was seeing workers jump to their deaths from the windows of the World Trade Center. Imagine in that moment, the unthinkable decision they had to make. They weren’t choosing whether to die but rather how to die. Which is better, burning to death in a fiery inferno or choosing to leap to your death from a skyscraper? That is no choice. I read once that life is pleasant,  death is peaceful but it’s the transition that is troublesome.

I remember when my guy Bill lay dying under hospice, a fellow also named Bill, I’ll call him Bill2, who was the leader of the  York-Adams TFC Global chapter, stopped by the house. My Bill was not a believer and didn’t enjoy pop-up visits from Jehovah’s  Witnesses and the like spewing their beliefs on our back porch.  However, this day was different. He knew Bill2 so when he arrived,  I invited him in. As I worked in the kitchen, he sat with my Bill in the other room. Bill2 was a fellow saved trucker, very adept at sharing his testimony and bringing others to the Lord in an unoffensive manner. As he engaged Bill on the topic, I thought this would not go over well.

As the conversation ensued, I heard  Bill2 start to ask Bill about his beliefs in God. He was very direct, respectful, and able to easily engage. Then he began asking key questions about his faith or lack of it. Eavesdropping from the next room, I was astounded to hear Bill repeating the salvation prayer as Bill 2 led him through it. He also explained about sin,  deliverance, and how our God is so forgiving. I fell to my knees on the kitchen floor crying tears of joy. I never thought the man of steel behind the wheel that I had known for 22 years, a good man but one who kept a very unforgiving heart, would surrender. I’ll never forget that moment. A few months later as I held Bill’s hand in the living room, while he lay dying on the hospital bed, I watched his heartbeat through his shirt, once, twice, a third time and then it stopped. I actually watched this man die before my eyes, I saw the last beats of a human’s heart. As sobering as this moment was, I  knew where he was going now. He may have waited until the end to be saved but he didn’t play chicken with death. He followed Bill2’s cue.  

So please, if you haven’t accepted God, consider the fact that you are reading this article as your sign. Romans 10:9 says, “If you  confess with your mouth Jesus is Lord and believe God raised him  from the dead you will be saved.” And what better position to be in? You never know when the bridge might fall or the skyscraper may tumble.

showerhead

Shower Thoughts

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By: Lynn Bolster

We all take a shower each day or so right? Well, I bet some of the non-trucker folks out there don’t know that taking a shower on the road costs between $10 – $15. When I was trucking it cost just $5. If you fuel up or have a customer card it may cost less. But this luxury can be lousy depending on where you choose to shower. South of the Border is a huge tourist attraction in South Carolina. There are about 175 wacky billboards screaming “tourists come, truckers welcome!” all along I-95. Millions of dollars are spent each year to lure drive-bys in. So we decided to stop for a shower one hot day. Mistake? You betcha!

When I entered the huge Mexican-themed building, all I saw was bare drywall, tables of cheap gifts, and fireworks. “Free coffee for truckers” was available but it looked like you would need a shovel to stir it. Showers were also free – wow – you can’t beat that! The clerk handed me a towel the size of a postage stamp, no key, no paper bath mat. I picked shower number three. No lock, no key, just walk in. Not the greatest security for someone who will be hanging around naked for the next hour. Number three looked like it had been used but not cleaned. I checked the other showers in the hall and they were all that way, so now it was a matter of choosing the cleanest dirty shower. I chose number two.

I pushed my bag tight against the door to discourage intruders. The handset was so loose that it just about fell off into my hand. This was about as much security as if the fox was guarding the hen house. Yikes, hair, hair everywhere. I felt dirty just standing there so I grabbed the plastic trashcan liner and laid it on the dirt and hair-encrusted tiles underfoot. Peepholes in the walls were everywhere so I stuffed each one with toilet paper. The use of the commode was out of the question. The bare light bulb hanging by a frayed cord out of the ceiling reminded me of those crime movies where they questioned the guy on a hard chair under a bright bulb. Shower stall ceiling tiles hung by clumps of dried glue, ready to drop. Mold and his friend Mildew joined me. I wear a 7½ shoe and that’s good because there was a circular spot just at the drain hole where the needles of hot water in effect had drilled away any gunk so it was slime-free.

I gingerly stepped into this sphere of cleanliness in my flip-flops and soaped up. The water felt wonderful but the view of the gook and muck-covered shower curtain detracted from my overall experience. Washdown complete, I exited onto my plastic bag bath mat and dried off with my postage stamp, oops, towel. The exhaust fan desperately tried to suck up the moisture but none had dissipated, leaving me with a steam bath like I used to pay for at the YMCA. There was so much dust and accumulated dirt that the fan was exhausted! It was as effective as sucking the steam through a drinking straw. I dried off, gathered up my things, and moved to the shower next door since they were all vacant and unlocked anyway. Number four wasn’t any better but the mirror was steam-free so soon I was ready to go.

Despite my suffering, I was cleaner but not as refreshed as I would have been had I not had to focus on being so innovative in shower etiquette for the last hour. Emerging, satchel in hand, in my Ivory soap stupor, I foolishly asked the clerk if they had a laundry facility. She said they did but she didn’t think they worked, plus if I needed detergent, I’d better have my own because someone broke into the vending machine and stole it all. Why did I already know that something like this was what I would hear…had I not learned anything in the last hour?

Maybe South of the Border is better now, I don’t know, but I’m not interested in finding out. If it is, I sincerely apologize, but in this article, I’m just sharing my experience. The moral of the story is: that it is worth it to pay for a nice, clean, civilized shower. Oh, what? Are you thinking what I am? How much a year does this place spend on billboards? With that much money and hype, you’d think a bit more could be spent to ensure the driver has a relaxing experience. Oh and make sure to tip your shower cleaner at the truck stop! 

Our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. Romans 8:18

hands putting money into offering plate

Mike, Money, & Malachi

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By: Lynn Bolster 

When my journey with TFC Global began in 2015, I knew I would meet drivers and hear their tales and testimonies. So this month I am sharing one that impacted me when I first heard it a few years ago. Mike Smith, who was a member of the former York-Adams chapter of TFC Global, is a man who has lived the trucking brotherhood, a great family man, and someone who loves the Lord. Since so many of us struggle with money, myself included, I thought his experiences would benefit us. What follows is his story.

 

I accepted Jesus into my heart in 1982. My wife Kathy and I were married in September 1976. Two months later, I began trucking long distance, staying out for long periods of time. In 1977 we ended up separating for five years until 1982.

One year before I came to know the Lord, Kathy and her church started to pray that I would get saved. The Lord let me get pretty low. During that time I thought about taking my life but before that happened I wanted to see my son so I tried to find Kathy. I had no idea where they lived but I knew where her brother lived so I went to see him.

Kathy later told me that a few days before that, the Lord told her in a plain voice that I was coming back. Shortly after, I knocked at her brother’s door and when his wife answered, she just looked at me, stunned, because Kathy had told them what God had told her. When I asked where Kathy was, she stepped out. Eventually, we got back together and are still with each other to this day.

I was saved on the kitchen floor while Kathy led me in prayer and then I made my decision public that night at church. When we went to church, people acted like they knew me. I’ll never forget the altar call. I held onto the pew in front of me, it was shaking, and I felt God convicting me and Satan pulling me back. I gave in to the Lord.

I still had a lot to learn. One area was handling money. God taught me about tithing. Tithing is giving 10% of your income to your church. We lived on $200 – $300 a week, some weeks less. Once I only had enough to pay the light bill but not enough to tithe. I had received a shut-off notice, so I asked the pastor what I should do. He showed me a scripture about tithing in Malachi 3:10 and encouraged me to pay the tithe on Sunday morning. That afternoon a friend bought my old pickup truck and we had enough to pay for both lights and food.

Next, we didn’t have heat because there wasn’t any fuel in the barrel. I met a driver in Harrisburg, and we discussed how good God is. He called me later and asked me to come over. As I was leaving, he handed me a check and said the Lord told him to do it. When Kathy looked at the check, she said praise the Lord, it was exactly what we needed to get 100 gallons of fuel!

Malachi 3:10 says: “Bring the whole tithe into the storehouse, that there may be food in my house. Test me in this,” says the Lord Almighty, “and see if I will not throw open the floodgates of heaven and pour out so much blessing that there will not be room enough to store it.” A third time we didn’t have enough to pay the tithe and house bills. I paid the tithe and three days later a couple from church came with food and then the fuel truck delivered again. Kathy had to take pots and pans out of the cupboards so all the food would fit – those were the blessings flowing out, just as God’s word had promised! I learned that I can’t outgive God. He still blesses us so much today, and every time we give we get back more – praise the Lord!

Mike’s testimony shows how we need to depend on God’s promises even when they don’t match up with how most of us think. We, as believers, are called to be in this world but not of this world. Being “of this world” means following the unbelieving world’s values, beliefs, and conduct. We, as Christians, are to follow what Christ says and reflect it by our words and actions even when it doesn’t make sense to us.

Pastor Peter Marshall said, “give according to your income lest God make your income according to your giving.” Evangelist Todd White says, “what you put in your hand shrinks, but what you put in God’s hand multiplies.” Tithing may be hard to do, but test it we must.

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